


And he will perform judgement

by galaxyostars



Series: The DMC Collection [6]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, DMC Hanami Week, Dante (Devil May Cry) is a Sweetheart, Like father like son, Swordfighting, Yamato - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23667637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyostars/pseuds/galaxyostars
Summary: Nero’s eyes glowed a horrible yellow. For a moment, Vergil was sure Nero had lost control, that he was on the verge of triggering his demonic self out of pure anger. But he couldn’t have been more wrong.Time stopped around him. Vergil felt a surge of energy bellow through the field in which they were practising, fickle blue flames erupting in a line between his feet. For a long moment, the blanket of reality greyed out and reflected against cracks made in the fabric of space.Nero sheathed Yamato, the sword emitting a quietschlink.
Relationships: Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: The DMC Collection [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1387243
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	1. Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooo this is one of my longer Hanami Week fics. It'll be posted across the day, so be sure to check back later for another chapter.

“I need you to tell me about her,” Nero said. “You owe me that much.”

Vergil raised a sharp eyebrow, snapping his book shut. “I don’t owe you anything.”

That was it. That was how this nasty dance between them began.

Ever since Vergil shot him down, Nero had become increasingly frustrating. He wasn’t even doing anything unusual – he’d dropped his line of query almost immediately after, but Vergil could tell that it still rested there, under the surface, that he was waiting for the right moment to ask again.

Maybe Nero thought he’d catch Vergil in a moment of vulnerability and force the information from him. It’d been over twenty years since he’d last thought about her – yet every time Nero showed up, he was confronted with her. Nero took many of the telltale Sparda features – to the point that V had recognised him as _Dante_ ’s kin, rather than his own. But there were little hints, here and there, of _her_.

 _As soon as he learns to tame Yamato,_ she’d drawled, _you will be his. And he will perform judgement._

Vergil didn’t understand what she had meant – and part of him had hoped it was simply gibberish. Then he considered that perhaps she was referring to Dante; Dante, who had never wielded Yamato to its full potential. Vergil had gone through with Temen-ni-gru without having to worry about Yamato; Dante had only attempted to disarm him of it, not take it specifically. And gained no real prowess with it, even decades after awakening his demonic heritage. Vergil would never _have_ to worry about being Dante’s _anything_. Vergil had faced Dante’s judgement. Repeatedly. Nothing between them changed because of it.

Dante informed him of Nero’s capability with Yamato during their time in hell together. Nero didn’t have the skill Vergil had, but he was at least able to remain toe-to-toe with Dante, so long as his brother went easy. But Dante hadn’t seen Nero with Yamato since entrusting it to him.

And then Nero asked to learn how to wield it properly. As if he’d do so again in the future.

She had spoken about Yamato, about Sparda, about raising Temen-ni-gru… and she’d been uncanny in her accuracy predicting Vergil’s life. She’d even warned him about falling prey to Mundus. He hadn’t taken it seriously.

Dread. Vergil’s body filled with utter dread. Fear for his own life, and fear for Nero’s. Vergil lacked the understanding behind her words, the context behind her dreams. Had he remembered her words correctly? Was there meant to be a specific way to interpret them, or had she meant them all metaphorically?

But how could Vergil say no to Nero? Nero’s reasoning was realistic: Dante knew how to swing Red Queen _and_ Yamato. Nero knew how to handle Ebony and Ivory. In the event Nero was without a weapon, and Yamato was the only option left, he needed to know how to cut down an enemy without wilding flailing about – which is how Vergil typically characterised Nero’s use of Red Queen, but that was another matter entirely.

 _He’ll crave it,_ she warned him – though she never explained _what_ exactly _who_ would crave. At the time, Vergil had (again) assumed she was talking about Dante. She hadn’t been. She was referring to their son.

Their son, who had _abysmal posture with his katana_.

“The blade _must_ remain _up_ ,” Vergil snapped. He sliced the air in front of Nero’s chest with Alastor – the only other weapon available to him capable of channelling his demonic energy and withstanding strikes from Yamato (Dante had pulled it out of ‘a friend’s’ storage container for their use). Nero blocked the slash with considerable effort, but it dug his heels into the ground.

To Nero’s credit, the young man didn’t complain. Not once. Vergil had knocked his feet around, slashed at him unfairly, kicked him down, dragged him up, and downright berated his use of Yamato. Dante would have taken the bait by now; he’d have given up Yamato and taken to his firearms in irritation.

Nero, however, remained calm and collected. It was a side of him Vergil hadn’t seen in combat before. It was off-putting and unexpectedly unnerving. He was waiting for Nero’s string to snap, for his anger to suddenly rise. Dante claimed the extent of Nero’s capability with Yamato was the young man’s wild swinging of the katana, but Dante couldn’t have been more _wrong_. Yamato sung with Nero’s energy. It appeared weightless in his hands. Not one of Vergil’s attacks with Alastor had disturbed the unity between Nero and Yamato.

Vergil had no doubt Nero was his son. And so far, he had no ill intention against Vergil – that he could tell, at least.

So… what had she been talking about? If she was indeed referring to Nero, in what capacity was Vergil ‘his’. What exactly was it that Nero would crave? Yamato? It seemed unlikely.

“Who taught you footwork?” Vergil demanded as Nero stumbled once more under the brunt of another merciless attack. “You are _sloppy_. There is no discipline behind your technique. Your tutor must have been as poor as you are.”

Something snapped inside Nero. He deflected Vergil’s secondary strike, sending the older man sliding backward. Nero’s eyes glowed a horrible yellow. For a moment, Vergil was sure Nero had lost control, that he was on the verge of triggering his demonic self out of pure anger. But he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Time stopped around him. Vergil felt a surge of energy bellow through the field in which they were practising, fickle blue flames erupting in a line between his feet. For a long moment, the blanket of reality greyed out and reflected against cracks made in the fabric of space.

Nero sheathed Yamato, the sword emitting a quiet _schlink_.

Pain burst across his right shoulder, blood erupting from a wound Vergil hadn’t the time to register. Branches from the trees nearby fell, sawn from their trunks and their flowers slashed in perfect quarters. Blades of grass had been shorn from the ground.

A Judgement Cut. And an End variation, at that.

Vergil had never been on the receiving end of his own move, his own technique. He’d used it against Nero at the top of the Qliphoth several times – and evidently, Nero had been paying attention. He had just performed it perfectly, with no instruction from Vergil whatsoever. Just a handful of demonstrations intended to maim him months ago.

Vergil instinctively clasped a gloved hand over his shoulder wound, looking away only briefly to survey the damage to his coat. He’d been slashed four times from his shoulder down his arm, all four bleeding profusely. He was lucky Nero hadn’t inadvertently severed the arm. Or perhaps it wasn’t luck at all, but an unspoken warning from Nero.

_And he will perform judgement._

Had she meant it in a literal sense? Had she predicted this moment between parent and offspring? Had she seen Nero perform the skill? Is this what she had meant? The event had left Vergil with so many unanswered questions, but he knew not how to broach them with anyone else. He hadn’t told Dante about Nero’s mother – would his brother even believe the woman a seer? Vergil hadn’t. Not really. Frankly, he still wasn’t sure. But her predictions since he fell from the tower had been accurate within their own right… but nothing concrete had proven her words as nothing more than a psience.

His eyes bright and his chest heaving, Nero threw the Yamato down, turned on his heel, and left.

Yet… despite all this worry, pride bubbled in Vergil’s chest as he watched Nero’s back stalk away.


	2. Surpassing heritage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero goes to Dante for advice.

The doors of Devil May Cry burst open. Dante’s eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown as Nero stomped past him and shoved a fist through the wall to his kitchenette.

 _Well, then_. Part of him wondered if he should really ask what was wrong, but he was here, and not in Red City with Vergil. If something was _desperately_ wrong, Nero would have gone home to Fortuna by now. Instead, he was punching holes into Dante’s walls.

Nero pulled his hand out of the plaster, his breathing sharp. He retreated to the couch, brushing off the splinters, and rubbing his hands together. Wary of the kid, Dante stood and pulled the map off the pin board. He angled it overtop the new hole and stuck Lucia’s dagger into its rightful place.

There. All fixed. For all intents and purposes, there was no puncture in the wall.

He turned back to Nero. “Now that you’re done putting holes in my place…”

“Sorry,” Nero muttered.

“You can apologise by paying for it,” Dante dragged his chair from behind the desk and dropped it in front of Nero, straddling it and resting his arms against its back. “What’s going on?”

Nero ran his hands down his face and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Vergil is trying to teach me how to use Yamato.”

Dante had to repress his frown. Nero already _knew_ how to use Yamato – within his own right, at least. His skill with Yamato was self-taught, instinctual. It would never have the same finesse as Vergil utilised, but that wasn’t the point, wasn’t it? Sure, Dante liked to copy Vergil for a laugh sometimes, but _actually copying Vergil_ in combat was the biggest waste of energy he could ever imagine.

But trying to talk Nero out of something he’d already started was _also_ a big waste of energy. So Dante shelved his criticisms. “And?”

“Everything I do is _wrong_ ,” he said. “Even when I do it _right_.”

“In Vergil’s opinion.”

“Yes,” Nero thread his fingers together. “He keeps sending me mixed messages. If he doesn’t want me to learn how to use Yamato properly, then why is he trying to teach me in the first place?”

“Isn’t it what you wanted?”

“I thought it’d… I don’t know, I guess I thought it’d be a middle ground between us. He won’t tell me about my mother, so I figured his experience with Yamato was the next best thing to build rapport with him.”

Dante smiled weakly. “How long have you been taking lessons from him?”

“Little over a week.”

“What happened today, then? What made you come here?”

Nero’s thumb rubbed the inside of his left hand, and he refused to hold Dante’s stare. “Credo.”

The Captain from the Order of the Sword. The one who had asked Dante to save Nero and Kyrie before he’d died – a final request. It figured he had been close to Nero. But Dante had never been sure _how_ close, whether Credo had been something akin to a brother for Nero. “Credo?”

“Credo taught me how to fight,” Nero kept looking down at the fingers on his right hand. “When his parents were killed, he taught me how to function like a human being. He and Kyrie were just… coping with the loss, y’know? So he put all his effort into me being able to work without them.”

“Looks like he did a good job.”

“He was an ass,” he scoffed. “Self-righteous bastard. First time he handed me a durandal, I dropped it – it was a prototype, almost as heavy as a car engine, and I was a kid – but he ripped it off me and refused to let me train with swords until he was satisfied with my weight training.” Finally, Nero leaned back on the couch. “He taught me _everything_. Was _going_ to teach me everything else. My shield training got put on hold while he worked on his captaincy,” he chuckled to himself. “He was pissed when I built the first Blue Rose.”

Dante had almost forgotten Nero had constructed Blue Rose himself. All of Nero’s weapons required mechanical upkeep worthy of an engineering degree – well past anything Dante could do. The kid had streamlined the Red Queen’s upgrades with Nico’s help – Dante had been there for that argument, even having to step in between them to stop a fist-fight Nico might’ve actually _won_ – but Blue Rose was entirely Nero’s. It’d evolved somewhat since Dante was first introduced to it; the intricate engravings down its shell having been replaced with a simpler and more polished buff, and it was now friendlier to ambidextrous use (a change made after losing his arm).

“Can’t have guns in the Order,” Dante grinned. Finding a knight in the Order willing to fire pot-shots at him had been quite the surprise when he’d killed Sanctus (the first time). The rest of the organisation valued sword-play, therefore were fairly easy to dispatch with Ebony and Ivory.

“Sanctus called them ‘uncivilised’. I guess he didn’t take that into consideration when building the Saviour.”

Dante hummed in agreement.

“Credo was an ass when he wanted to be. But he never doubted my ability. Sometimes it felt like he thought I could do something I _couldn’t_. He was pushy, and sometimes I hated him for that, but… When Vergil insulting his training…” he scoffed. “It wasn’t even that much of a dig. Vergil was trying to get a rouse out of me – I don’t know why. I don’t think he knows why, either.”

“But he got one,” Dante breathed.

“He got one alright,” he growled. “Performed a Judgement Cut.”

The devil hunter blinked at the younger man. Nero… with very little training… “You _what_?”

Nero shrugged.

Dante gripped the chair, his back straight as he leaned away from Nero. “That move is… A Judgement Cut isn’t something you just _do_ , Nero, it takes _years_ of practise. It took _years of practise_ for Vergil, and he is still not convinced he’s up to our father’s standard.” And he probably never will be – Sparda is long dead, and the only comparison Vergil had was Dante, but even then, Dante had never performed the move _specifically_. Just something similar.

“He tried to kill me with it. Fair’s fair,” Nero crossed his arms with a sour look – and Dante agreed with him, to an extent.

“Nero… Vergil’s entire life’s motivation lies in his quest for power absolute,” Dante stated. “You surpassed that. _Twice_. Vergil has an ego the size of this planet – he doesn’t take kindly to other people beating him. It might be the only way to get him to speak what’s on his mind, but he will try to eviscerate you for it.”

Nero groaned, running his hand through his hair. “I just want one thing where we are both equals. I _can’t_ talk to him outright – _he_ refuses.”

“Then talk to him in a language he understands. But be prepared for the fact you may not like what he has to say.”


	3. Garden of Eden

He caught Red Queen without having seen it tossed. The blade had quite some heft to it – certainly not as light as Yamato, or even Alastor. This was the weight Nero burdened himself with. Now that Vergil had a hold of it, he understood why Nero powered most of his attacks with brute force. It was a style comparable to Dante’s use of the Sparda, using the weapon’s weight, rather than its agility, as an advantage against an enemy. Crude, but effective.

Vergil didn’t believe Nero had thrown him his sole weapon for Vergil’s unconscious curiosity. The dark slayer’s eyes gazed over it. “Why?”

“I want to talk.”

Vergil frowned. “And you intend to do so by throwing down your weapon?”

“No.” Nero thrust forward an outstretched hand. A spectral demon latched onto Yamato before Vergil had the chance to stop it, snatching the katana from his grip. “I intend to talk by taking _yours_.”

“You are playing a dangerous game, Nero,” Vergil growled, but Nero had already taken up a ready position with Yamato. _So be it._ Vergil swung the Red Queen across the ground, raising the blade with its tip pointed at Nero. “I don’t need Yamato to beat you.”

Nero did not respond. He took a single step forward and fizzled out of existence. Vergil’s breath caught in his throat – his son was apparently _full_ of surprises, taking techniques from not only Vergil, but _Dante as well_.

He countered against the burst of energy on his right, the blade of Red Queen deflecting Yamato. He slashed unsuccessfully past Nero, but the attempted blow was enough to give him some breathing room. “What is it you want to talk about, Nero?”

_But I already know the answer to that, don’t I?_

“ _Tell me where I came from!_ ”

A shudder ran up Vergil’s spine. While Nero stood waiting on the other side of the field, Vergil felt a strong hand with sharp nails digging into his chin, a soft facing turning cold as black eyes bore into his own. _Not so cocky without your Yamato, are you?_

Nero saw the opening. He took it. Yamato pierced through Vergil’s side before he’d recomposed himself. But with Yamato somewhat within his grasp, Vergil pulled focus from the weapon. He warped from the blade, apparating behind Nero to bring Red Queen down over his back. Nero snapped away, cracking back into existence again on the other side of the field. 

Vergil could see what he was doing – Nero was deliberately taking cheap shots at him. Maim him, cut him down, but not endanger his life. That said, the puncture wound in his side ached as it healed over more than any time he’d spent impaled on the Rebellion or Red Queen. He’d experienced true, unending pain before – and Vergil shoved those thoughts away before he dwelled on Mundus – but the pain from Yamato’s strike…

“You know where you came from, Nero,” Vergil sneered, pulling his hand away from his side. He’d been caught bleeding – _again_. “Learning more about her will do nothing to change that.”

“That’s not up to you to decide!”

“You’re right!” he snapped in an uncharacteristic fit of rage. “It’s up to _her!_ And she _left you_.”

_Just like she left me._

It wasn’t enough for Nero. He came at Vergil with a flurry of attacks, all designed to cut away at Vergil’s resolve. Any inch of skin Nero could see was free game, and with Yamato’s precision, he expertly tapered his attacks toward where he had already drawn blood from Vergil’s body.

Vergil could deflect Nero’s attacks all day if he had to. He had no quarrel with Nero’s swordplay as it was. As much as Nero’s strikes were powerful, he was predictable, using Vergil’s own attacks against him. He had no repertoire of his own, and many of his heavy-hitting attacks relied on weight Yamato simply didn’t have in its hilt. Nero was operating on borrowed time: once Vergil became confident with Red Queen, he would win this battle. The child was trying to distract him for long enough to get what he wanted.

If only Vergil _had_ what Nero wanted. Of course he had information about his mother. Her name, how they met, how long they were within reach of one another – but it was all… _empty_. None of it would benefit Nero at all. Vergil could never answer Nero’s true question: _why_? He’d asked himself that since before Temen-ni-gru, and still hadn’t found a credible answer.

Nero reminded Vergil of himself. For the first time since returning from Mundus’ control, Vergil was _fearful_. Nero smashed against the Red Queen with Yamato, knocking Vergil further onto the ground with each pummelling strike. Even Dante hadn’t exhibited such raw ferocity – Vergil had no way to defend himself against it, except to keep the Red Queen up and hope it doesn’t shatter under the pressure.

“ _Tell me what I need to know!”_

 _That does it._ Red Queen in hand, Vergil unleashed the full power of his demonic form. The energy was enough to knock Nero to the ground – Yamato slid through his hands and returned to its rightful owner. As Nero tried scrambling away, Vergil approached him with both swords aimed at the younger man’s chest.

“What you _need_ to know and what you _want_ to know are two _very different things_ ,” Vergil hissed, hot puffs escaping through his sharpened teeth, throwing the Red Queen down to Nero. “I have _seen_ this anger before – I feel this fury _each of my waking days_. I know where it leads!”

Vergil’s need for knowledge, for Sparda’s power, was not unlike Nero’s need for understanding. Vergil had spent years, decades even, dedicated to living up to his father’s name. But he barely _knew_ his father. His only memory of Sparda was learning the basics of Yamato, of receiving it as his birthright. It was his only connection to the mysterious shadow of a demon.

He didn’t need to explain _where_ it leads: under the control of a demon mightier than one. Mundus had captured and controller Vergil to the point of insanity. He felt the ache of armour forcefully ripped from him by Dante years ago each time he breathed. It was an eternal pain he was too stubborn to admit existed, a consequence for reaching above his capabilities – and he hated himself for it daily. Not because he shouldn’t have reached so high, but because he wasn’t strong enough to grasp it. He’d tried for such power while so young, and so naïve.

“This obsession,” Vergil snapped, “it’s _not worth it_ , Nero.”

Nero glared at him with a defiance Vergil again recognised, but it wasn’t his own. For a moment, a very brief and painful moment, he was in Fortuna, being cast away. _You have no use here_, she had told him. _Take height, and fall._

It wasn’t until he’d stood on the edge of Oblivion with Dante all those years ago that he realised Eden had meant for him to fall to Hell in the _literal_ sense. That said, the last two days had proven she’d meant _everything_ somewhat literally.

 _He will crave it_. Nero had shown no _craving_ in Yamato outside of shivving Vergil. He wanted it not for himself, but as a means to an end. But he craved what Yamato represented. Harmony between them.

Nero had taken up the Red Queen from where Vergil had discarded it and attempted a low-ground slash. He was back with his weapon of choice now, his moves far more formidable than they had been with Yamato. Vergil had barely gotten his bearings to zip away, and the skin of his thigh paid the price for it.

“How can I prove to you that _power_ is not what this is about?” Nero demanded. “I _have_ all the power I need! I just want to know where I came from.”

Vergil reverted to his human self, the slash on his thigh healing instantaneously. His blue eyes were reflected back to him with Nero’s stare. Vergil shuddered, sheathing Yamato once more. “You are lying.”

Nero recoiled ever so slightly. “I’m-”

“You want to know why she left you. You already know why _I_ wasn’t there, but you’ve no reasoning behind _her_ abandonment.” Vergil’s fingers turned white around Yamato’s scabbard. “I can’t tell you what I do not _know_ , Nero.”

The anger dissipated from Nero’s shoulders, leaving only a tiring young man. “Then… why did _you_ leave her?”

Vergil growled at him. “Did you ever consider that perhaps it’s the _other way around?_ ”

Her haunting chuckle echoed through Vergil’s ears. The implication of Nero’s assumption hurt him more than he cared to admit. _He_ left _her_? Preposterous. He had gone to Fortuna for information. She had assisted him, defying the Order of the Sword without a moment’s hesitation. He thought not that she loved him (their time together was too short for that), but that she respected him. Vergil had thought them equals — the first time he’d experienced such a dynamic with anyone. Instead, she revealed herself to have had a fleeting infatuation with him, with Yamato. Nothing more, nothing less.

Vergil approached Nero, his step heavy with each thought of her. “I am not _ready_ to relive that. I understand how you feel. But that is a wound that has not yet closed. I need _time_. I have never asked anything of you before, but I request that you grant me this.”

Nero straightened, his jaw tightening. He failed to form words and finally looked away from Vergil. “Okay.”

A burden lifted off his shoulders, but he could feel another forming as Nero turned on his heel and walked away again. “Good talk.”

_Eden…_

Why had she refused to permit them the thing they both wanted so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a couple of names for Nero's mother that I thought were cool and others I didn't feel fit quite right. Turns out it's hard to source fitting biblical names. Dru was a close runner up, but then I found Eden (IE, garden of eden. Seemed fitting.


End file.
